Elevator Music

I get in the lift and there’s a teenage girl already in there, phone in hand, some shitty K-Pop blaring out of it.

She smiles at me when the doors close and I say, you know, not everyone wants to listen to that shit.

She doesn’t reply so I go on, thinking she no speak Engrish: I mean, if you’re going to listen to something, you could at least make it good. Why does everyone who listens to music on their phone only listen to shit?

The girl looks down at her screen and I say: well, are you going to turn it off?

The lift stops, the doors slide open and the girl gets out. Another girl is waiting. The first girl says, you’re right. He is a dick.

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Published by Rene

About me for Word Press:
I am 50. Yeah! Ok, I have cried, whined, and even talked with a guy who told me he was Father Time. I am thinking he was not and he was just an old man trying to hit on me. Anywho, fifty is here, no escaping now. Yes, I am slightly obsessed with this change in my life. I don’t feel 50, although I am not sure what 50’ers feel like. I just remember thinking, and this doesn’t seem like too long ago, ‘OMG! You are 50. That is so old. I am never going to be 50. Kill me before I get that old.’ Well, nobody has killed me yet, maybe that is at the surprise b-day party. I feel 35, and I know what that felt like. I was independent, had my cool ass truck, and my life was great. I had a great career at the time, and was dating a lot. So, I think I will just turn 35 again at this b-day. PEOPLE TAKE NOTE: This year will be my 35th b-day.
Okay, about the rest of me. I have a “crew of three”: a Bichon Frise (M) who is not show worthy by a long shot simply because ‘his mamma’ cuts his hair’; I have a Maine Coon (not a hat!) (F) who is the oldest of us all, including older than me; and then the littlest one, my all black Ragamuffin cat (F) who is almost as old (6 months younger) as the Maine Coon. Now the one who causes the most problems: hmmm…depends on the day, or night as it were. Wizard, the loveable ball of energy (which I am sure he steals from me at night), is the Bichon (so you don’t have to look it up, he is a dog. No seriously, he is a canine.), well, he can be quite a handful. So much so, g-ma doesn’t want to have anything to do with him most of the time. He is a dog, thus he is work. Cats are lazy, and thus people who don’t like to work with their animals have cats. (Oh, jeez! Sit down all you cat people. Get over yourselves. I have two cats as well, so I am equal opportunity pet owner.) I am sure I will be sharing many antics about him in future writings. The cats are pretty…well, lame. They lay around all day, are too quick for breakfast and supper (we have scheduled times here), and they basically do nothing. They are at the age now where they are not even really entertaining anymore. The black one looks so much like one of my black pillows, I have to make sure there are not claws attached to what I lay my head on. The Maine Coon, though, she is the one who understands me the best. She is like me, whereas the other two sort
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